The Inside
by electric violinist
Summary: Brendan tries desperately to get over Stephen while in prison.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This was started in the early days of Brendan's imprisonment, before the absurdity that was "Father Figures" wrote itself, then abandoned. I gave up because it seemed to have been made impossible by the scenes with Warren. I have decided, however, that I can make it work; early in the imprisonment. It was originally intended as a companion piece to The Knock, but has ballooned slightly. It will be in two parts.**

**Things you need to know; **

**It will be in two parts.**

**Brendan has not yet been put in a single person cell.**

**Warren is not yet threatening him.**

**You cannot always believe everything Brendan says. Even to himself.**

**I must also confess that my entire knowledge of prison life is based upon the sitcom Porridge.**

…

It was the walls that got to him. Sometimes he would stand with his back and head pressed against one, so the others would seem further away. Or he would mentally punch them down, imagine pulling the bricks out one by one, until the whole place fell down around him.

There were two sorts of people you didn't mess with in prison; the big guys, who could knock you down with a flick of their finger, and the psychos. Brendan had never been big, just tall and muscled in a compact way. But he didn't need to be; he could play the second sort perfectly. The first day he'd been there he'd picked a fight with one of the gym bunnies, some pathetic sort, more muscle than brain, then dodged around him, laughing like a mad man until a guard had intervened. Seeing Brendan do nothing but dodge, the guard had taken the now exhausted muscled guy had been taken off to cool down.

Brendan had spent the rest of the day intimidating and committing the most random acts of violence upon unsuspecting victims whenever he was certain there could be no retaliation. Word spread. "Don't mess with that Irish guy, he's a nutter."

He hadn't been surprised when the poor lad who he'd be sharing with walked into their cell as though he was trying to hide behind his own shadow. He wouldn't want to share with the guy he'd painted that day. It was a young lad, quite skinny, with hair shaved close to his head in a mousy brown colour.

Brendan didn't looked at him. He just lay on the top bunk, his eyes seeming to be closed. The lad hesitated before dashing for his bed, and Brendan had relaxed slightly for the first time since arriving.

He gave the kid a moment before growling, "I hope you don't snore."

He smirked to himself, imagining the lad's reaction.

Keeping the crazy front hadn't been hard work. Brendan wasn't sure if it was even an act at times. Even before, sometimes he'd chosen to explode, to keep control by keeping other people scared. Like the first few times he'd needed to keep Stephen under control. But sometimes… with Danny, he'd had no control then, never made a decision, his hand had just done what it needed, his voice screaming it on.

It was a week before he'd dared asked Cheryl about Stephen. She'd been evasive, said obvious stuff like "He's still grieving over Rae," "He's not come back to work yet," but Brendan didn't need more than that. He realised what it meant. His stomach twisted itself into a knot of fury, which he held back desperately. Cheryl didn't need to see the psycho part of him.

When he got back to his cell, he let himself go. Of course, his hands were the biggest casualty, though it took him sometimes to realise they were hurting. He crashed back against a wall and slid down it, now fighting fiercely against the pathetic tears.

"Er…" The lad had returned. Brendan hadn't cared enough to find out where he was.

Brendan growled; an animalistic warning. The lad stood in the doorway undecided. "Erm," he said again. He swalled, "I can't go, you know, it's … erm," he looked around him, "I'll just…" he made a dash for his bunk, where he lay fully clothed, staring upwards.

The fury was still in Brendan's heart, He understood why Stephen believed the charge, with everything the lad knew, but it hurt.

"Man up! You're pathetic!" Hurt? What was he, a whining woman?

"Sorry," said the lad, and Brendan spun round to stare at him.

"What are ye apologising for?"

The lad had sat up, still shrinking away from him as far as the cell would allow, "You said I was pathetic."

Brendan stared at the lad for a few moments before laughing manically. It was better than admitting he was talking to himself, and had the added bonus of scaring the lad a little bit more. The lad stared downwards and to the side. It reminded Brendan of Stephen, the way he had turned away that first time in the cellar, when he'd expected a battering, and got that electric kiss instead. It hadn't meant so much back then.

"And?" Brendan demanded, not really remembering what he was asking through his Stephen-filled haze.

"Er… sorry?" The lad tried, clearly equally lost,

Brendan kept his gaze on the lad a little longer, enjoying his nervousness. Suddenly he grinned, "Good lad," he said and went to set on his own bunk, ignoring the lad for the rest of the night.

He dreamt of Stephen that night; woke up with the proof of it. It was humiliating as he took care of himself, and more so as he realised the lad below him would probably have noticed as he'd woken up.

He took the opportunity at breakfast to make sure nothing would be spread that he didn't want spread; he sat right next to the lad, stole some of his breakfast, chewed it, then let it fall back onto the lads plate. The boy had stared at the mess, then looked at Brendan with shock and anger clear on his face.

"What…." he started.

"You got something to say, boy?" Brendan growled, face too close, voice threatening. The lad hesitated, face still angry, but now hurt creeping int. Brendan smiled, "Anything?"

The boy looked back down at his food. "No," he said, feebly, polking the remnants of his breakfast around the plate.

"Good boy," Brendan announced, and proceeded to eat with the table manners of a starving tiger.

That night he dreamt of Rae.

Of Rae _and_Stephen. He may not have killed her, but it looked like Silas had chosen her to frame Brendan. Would she still be alive if Brendan hadn't reacted so publicly, if Brendan hadn't forced Stephen to use her, if Brendan had managed to keep away from Stephen in the first place?

"Er, are you alright?"

Brendan knew who that timid voice belonged to, "What's it to you kid?"

"Er, you were moaning and stuff," the lad offered, and Brendan smiled fondly, remembering how Stephen had never known when to shut up. "Are you alright?"

Brendan laughed mirthlessly, "Yeah, top of the world me." The laughed again, because Stephen always ended sentences with me.

"Er, all right, I'll just,,, erm…"

The lad disappeared, back into his own bunk. Brendan thought about Stephen. By the time Stephen had known Brendan as long as this boy, he'd tried to blackmail him, and Brendan had punched the boys lights out. The cheeky sod. He should have known then really, that the boy would be trouble, that the mixture of vulnerability and bravery that he would later find endearing, would be his downfall. His joy and his misery.

Why couldn't the boy have just done as he was told? Keep Rae as a beard, not make her pregnant, and rely on her, and let her find out about his boss's secrets. Keep nosy exes from finding out too, obviously.

He'd chosen a father because he'd assumed he;d be equally keen to keep it a secret. Not like Vinnie, barely old enough to work a bar, and flirting like a girl in front of Danny Houston of all people. At least Macca had had a vague sense of shame, coming from Eileen's catholic family. But Stephen had surprised him even there, expecting dates and hand-holding, even when he was pretending to be with Rae.

Maybe that was the problem. He'd fallen in love, which was ridiculous, with this boy who was cheeky and brave and good. Next time he had to choose a real mouse, someone who wouldn't say boo to a goose. Someone just as terrified of being found out as him. Worry about Stephen if he got out. Now was time to get his needs met.

This lad would be convenient. Wouldn't say boo to a goose, locked in together, no one would think twice about them spending time together, because they had to. Brendan wondered how long it would take.

The next day he engineered a situation. It took a large amount of bribery, mostly so no questions would be asked, and a tiny amount of cheek.

At lunchtime in the canteen, the prisoners were always a noisy bunch. The lad from Brendan's cell sat by himself, as if hoping the ground would swallow him. So it wasn't just Brendan he was scared of. That would work for Brendan, the boy would want a protector, so what Brendan knew would happen today would work.

A skinny chav of a man sat next to the lad, started hassling him. Brendan let him squirm, but knew it was going to get worse. Teasing, followed by threats quickly becoming something noticeable. That;s when Brendan made his move.

"We got a problem her, mate?" The chav barely acknowledged him.

"Mind your own business, Paddy,"

Brendan's gaze locked on the chav; that wasn't part of the script. But it didn't matter now, he guessed, he could take revenge for racial slurs, no problem.

"Move, then, you little bastard," the chav continued, and reached for the lad.

It wasn't until halfway through the manoeuvre that Brendan remembered he'd done this to protect Stephen. Some yob with half a brain had made a fuss about the note he'd used to pay and the change Stephen gave. He'd pulled the yobs arms behind him, and pushed him down onto the bar, then proceeded to wind him up. Stephen had been in a mood with him at the time, and had not been grateful, and Chez had been quite angry, but it would get him what he wanted now.

The chav looked stunned; he'd expected to have a bit of a menacing voice talking him down, nothing physical. Brendan slowed down to enjoy himself.

"The Twits, or Fantastic Mr Fox?" He enunciated each word, his mouth caressing them, like poetry. He grinned, secretly wishing he had gum to chew in this guy's face.

"You what?" the stunned chav cried in a strangled voice.

"I said, The Twits or Fantastic Mr Fox?" Brendan moved his face away, not letting his hands loosen for a moment. "you know, Roald Dahl." He grinned manically. "Love a bit or Roald Dahl, used to read them to my boys." He hesitated. He'd said those words before. He wanted to kick himself for being so easily distracted. He snarled, "you know them, dontcha? Ah, bet ya do, they're all about bad things happening to bad people. Like what I can do to each one of your fingers there." He took hold of a finger and twisted just to prove the point. The chav grunted in pain. "I think we can understand each other." He let go of the chav's arms, who rubbed them slightly, before adopting his most manly demeanour for his pathetic retreat.

The lad was trying to pretend he wasn't looking at Brendan. His head was bent like in reverence. Brendan remembered looking at his father that way when he was expecting a telling off or a thump. It annoyed him slightly. He'd expected a bit of gratitude, but all it got him was fear. Well, fear was OK, he guessed, Stephen rarely showed him enough fear.

"You, er…" he couphed, trying to look concerned for the lad rather than about how to get him into bed, "You alright there, son?"

"Er, yeah, er…" He could see the lad's eyes flicker to his own face and was relieved to spot some admiration in the boy's expression. "Er, thanks."

"Don't mention it," he said, and gave his serious, uncompromising expression. The lad caught his gaze and instantly seemed trapped by it.

He spent as much of the day as he could with one eye on the lad. No point being the saviour if his savee didn't survive long enough to be grateful. He noticed that the lad kept flickering his own gaze towards Brendan.

He remembered similar looks from Stephen. A little slap or an argument never did anyone any harm, but he kept an eye out for any real trouble. He'd done the same for the others before Stephen, but it had been less obsessive then; he'd never killed for anyone else. Were any of them really aware of what Brendan was really thinking? Stephen probably wasn't. or he would never have bothered with Mr Muscles.

Eventually the time came for the inmates to go back to their cells. Brendan, usually so calm, felt himself pulsating with anticipation. No sex for six weeks, now, and God knows how long before that, so the idea of some anonymous shagging appealed to him. He wondered If Stephen was partaking in similar meaningless encounters, or worse, had found another Noah, some pathetic, untrustworthy pretty boy, who would never do the things he would to protect Stephen.

The return of the lad ended his reminiscence. Brendan caught the younger man's eyes, and gazed steadily. He felt a small wave of disappointment as he registered brown eyes. He mentally kicked himself – they were perfectly nice eyes, innocent and pretty, why should it bother him that they weren't like Stephen's? And did he just think of some bloke's eyes as pretty? Maybe he was just loosing it in prison.

"Ye all right, there, mate?" he asked, in his sexyist drawl, the one that went straight to Stephen's groin. From the lad's expression, he guess it had a similar effect on him. Good. Since that nightmare with Peter he'd somehow managed to avoid anyone who would reject him. It was something in their body language, he guessed, which let him anticipate a reaction. A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered Stephen's early hero worship, stroking his imaginary moustache.

The lad seemed to start breathing again, his own smile lighting up his face. "Yeah," he said, and Brendan took a second to remember that he'd asked a question. "Er, thanks for today, yeah" the lad continued.

"Don't mention it," Brendan mumbled.

The lad smiled again, then said, "Er, I was wondering if you wanted to, er…"

There it was, the proof he needed. Anything that happened was now down to the boy. It wasn't as brave as Stephen's kiss on the floor, but it would do.

He faked his anger.

"What… what did you…. What did you think I might want?" Brendan exhaled, getting into the lad's face, intimidating.

"Nothing," the lad backed down, quickly, and Brendan sighed, almost disappointed. Stephen would have told him exactly what he wanted by now. But Stephen was far too argumentative. This standing down was a good thing. This lad was used to having no control. Like Vinnie. Stephen had always wanted answers, even early on when it should have all just been a shag.

"Good," announced Brendan, before moving energetically away and jumping onto his own bunk.

The boys own bunk squeaked quietly as he got in. Brendan was pretty certain he didn't sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The following evening, the boy was sat on his bed reading a book as Brendan arrived. Brendan knew how to assert his authority. He stood before the boy, looking down at him, his whole body far too close. The boy flinched back automatically.

Brendan smirked. He could still scare them. There must have been something wrong with Stephen for him to have lost that fear. Brendan should never have shown his feelings, let alone say them aloud, that was stupid.

Brendan realised he'd got lost in his thoughts of Stephen again. He'd just been stood in front of this boy. Jesus, he hoped he hadn't smiled.

The boy's face suggested that whatever his own expression had been, the effect on the lad was exactly what he wanted. He smirked, one side of his lip twitching upwards. He imagined it was a pretty unnerving sight for a boy who didn't know him. And was rewarded as the boy stiffened even more.

He brought his face down, and their lips together. The boy didn't respond straight away, so he brought his face back again, eyebrow raised, to check what reaction this was having.

The boy looked stunned, shocked, but no distressed or disgusted. Brendan kissed him. This time the boy brought his own lips to meet Brendan's, tentative at first, then more eager. Brendan smirked, and brought his face back. The boy tried to follow, so Brendan placed a hand on his chest. Best this boy knew who was in charge.

Suddenly Brendan realised he had no protection. Damned if he was going to let this boy give him anything. He slipped his hand down the boy's body, and reached for one of his wrists. He took it, and then reached for the other with his other hand.

He had never let himself go without protection with Stephen either. He realised that was probably unnecessarily cautious. He had been the very first to use Stephen in the way he had. Obviously Amy and Rae didn't count in his head, and Stephen had made his own lack of experience known to Brendan early on. In those early days, he could have made use of Stephen any way he liked. Except for Rae of course.

And that pathetic Noah.

That familiar anger. Bloody Noah. It had been great to know he was Stephen's first and only.

He wrenched the boy in front of him forward by his wrists. The boy stumbled to his feet, his expression bemused and surprised again. Brendan kept hold of his wrists, but sat himself on the edge of the bottom bunk. He yanked the boys wrists again, and he fell forward onto his knees. That would probably be enough to give him the idea.

Stephen had been so scared of giving head that first time in the cellar. Brendan could see him now, face so uncertain, but so keen to get it right, "I've never done this before, Brendan," he'd said, unnecessarily. (Brendan had known exactly how much experience he had before he even started to pursue him.) He'd spoken like a child on their first day of school, knowing what it was supposed to be about, but completely unsure if they were doing it all right. He'd needed reassurance. Brendan had given it to him. "It's all right Stephen, you'll be grand."

"Er, my name's not Stephen."

Brendan growled, what the hell was wrong with him?

"Whatever, mate, I think you know what to do down there, yeah?"

"Er, can I have my wrists back please?"

Brendan tutted and let go. Stephen had grown to love this activity so much he would have opened Brendan's fly with his teeth if he had to.

The lad set to work. Brendan let his eyes close. That mouth felt so good, so warm. So eagar. Like the boy was trying to consume his essence, make Brendan a part of him. Even if he hadn't tried so hard, he'd already succeeded. Brendan couldn't have stayed away. He had tried to, succeeded for almost a month, then let him back in and let him back in. and manipulated back him, and begged him back in. This boy who made him feel like he was on fire, like he could lose himself in his soft skin and firm muscles and beautiful face. He wanted to look into those eyes, to see the love there. He opened his own.

A stranger was sucking him. Some lad he had known for five minutes, with brown eyes and short hair. No locks to sweep from his eyes or to tangle his fingers into.

Enough to grab though.

And he did. He grabbed the lad's hair, pulled him up and pushed him away in disgust. The boy stumbled over his feet and into the desk against the far wall. He looked t Brendan in shock.

Brenda stood, anger swelling through him. Anger at himself for how stupid he had been, how pathetic, what a poof, a girl.

Anger at the lad for not being Stephen.

"What's wrong?" the lad asked, so much fear in his voice now.

"You!" Growled Brendan, "Ye're wrong. And if you cross me again, boy, ye will regret it!"

"But I didn't…"

Brendan struck with the speed of a cobra. He grasped the boy by his collar and shoved him against the desk. He held him so the boy was leaning backwards, back arched over the desk, and feet barely touching the ground.

"Don't question me, boy, don't you ever question me!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the boy wittered, and Brendan slowly released him. He was, in many ways, actually a far safer bet than Stephen. He had a naturally submissive nature, and could clearly see who was in charge. Maybe he should try again.

He ran a hand across the boy's cheek, and schooled his face back to something warm and kindly again. He let out a single, warm, breathy laugh, and said, "Good boy, that wasn't so hard now, was it?"

The boy shook his head.

"Well, then," sing-songed Brendan, "get back to it then."

Maybe he'd pushed too far; to turn him down and terrify him and instantly expect to just start again. Well, at least the boy would stay on his toes after that.

The lad was being hesitant. Brendan looked fatherly at him, put his hand around the boy's face and kissed him softly. He felt the boy's lips respond and pulled away. "Everything alright there, lad?" he asked, "Do you want me to stop?"

The lad shook his head, so Brendan claimed his mouth again. He manoeuvred them around, and leant himself back against the desk. The lad took the hint.

This time Brendan kept his eyes closed.

…

He kept an eye on the lad the next day. Kept him out of trouble. And the lad definitely noticed. He braved a smile at Brendan more than once.

That night Brendan let the boy blow him again, and closed his eyes again. In his head he saw Stephen again. He would have to work on that.

He realised that he would have to make this a little reciprocal, so after the lad had finished, he picked him up off the floor, and pressed him down on the bed. He pushed his own body against the boy's, then freed the boys cock. He spat on his hand, and rubbed the appendage.

The boy was appreciative enough, but Brendan found himself getting bored. When he pleasured Stephen, he was like an animal, all purrs and growls and arched back and cries. He was so sensitive, Brendan would swear he could get him hard by glancing at him. They were so full of passion, like electricity shot through them both every time they touched.

The boy came. Brendan didn't stop long. He got up, wiped his hands, then leapt energetically onto his own bunk. He could hear the boy's breathing start to return to normal. By now Stephen would have tucked himself into the gap between Brendan's arm and body, his head on Brendan's shoulder. And be talking some sort of nonsense about feelings.

"So, who's Stephen, then?"

Maybe no one really knew when to shut up.

"What?" Brendan said in his most warning of growls.

"The guy you kept imagining while I was blowing ya," the lad said.

Brenda's eyebrows knitted together. He'd expected the boy to back down and apologise instantly. Maybe he was less of a mouse than Brendan had thought.

"I think you're imagining it, mate," Brendan announced, firmly.

"Er, I don't…"

"I ain't queer, son!" Brendan's tone was now deadly.

The lad paused. Brendan couldn't see his face from where he lay on the top bunk, but the pause must have meant the boy had got the message. He un-tensed his body.

"You're in love with him, though, aren't ya?"

The boy's tone was not even slightly accusatory. If anything it was sad, disappointed, resigned. That was irrelevant to Brendan. He leapt off his bunk , the red mist firmly clouding his mind. He grabbed the lad by his collar and pulled him free of the bed. Before the lad had even found his footing, Brendan was pummelling his belly. He struck and struck and struck. The lad was screaming like a girl, on the floor curling in on himself.

Hands were pulling at his shoulders, his arms, pulling him away. The boy was in a heap. With his eyes closed and his hands covering his head, all Brendan could see was Stephen.

…

Solitary was so quiet, so empty. In many ways his cell was now much more acceptable. No lad littering it up, filling the silence with his stuttered babbling.

But nothing to hide Brendan's thoughts either.

Stephen lying, battered and bruised, of a cold concrete floor. Stephen crying. Stephen leaving him, abandoning him. Stephen spilling those bitter words all over him.

He told himself Stephen deserved all those feelings, all the pain. How could he know Brendan so little? Believe him capable of this?

Stephen, lying battered and bruised on a cold concrete floor.

He had done that to him. He'd made Stephen fear him, and then he'd nurtured that fear.

But that was normal, wasn't it? Stephen should be scared. Brendan was scared. Scared of his father finding out, scared of them finding out his weakness, scared of what they would do when they did, scared of death. Scared of being a queer. No, it was right Stephen was scared. It was the loving that was wrong, that was disgusting. A man loving a man.

But Brendan didn't love Stephen! Not really, that was impossible. He was just obsessed. It was just the power. Stephen had challenged Brendan's power again and again. And Brendan had wanted to rise to that challenge.

That was all. And that was natural

And if Brendan ever got out, he could rise to that challenge again. He could use Stephen's guilt this time (because Brendan would be proved innocent,) and sex and love and pretty words, and Stephen would be his again.

Best not question why that was so important.

A few weeks later, Warren came to visit. And Brendan met his friends.

Getting Stephen back went down the list of things to do when he got out.

It wasn't to keep Stephen out of it, and it definitely wasn't to protect him.

It was because of the power.

And it always would be.

Really.

Really.


End file.
